Line in the Sand
by river of the sand
Summary: AU GaaSaku. Because war is coming. Because a king needs a queen. And because no-one warned him his most dangerous opponent would be the one warming his bed.
1. Enough is Enough

**Chapter One: Enough is Enough.**

 **New story.**

 **This is a plot bunny that refused to be ignored and is getting it's 15 minutes in the limelight while I also work on other things. I have a longer idea I'm working on, but in the meantime I hope you all love this enough to read, fav, alert and review. :)**

 **Summary:** AU GaaSaku. Because war is coming. Because a king needs a queen. And because no-one warned him his most dangerous opponent would be the one warming his bed.

-o-

Death was such a final affair. It couldn't be undone, bribed away, or blackmailed to disappear. Fighting it was a delay tactic at best, and denying its existence was detrimental and foolish.

It was also, sometimes, the only thing that made sense.

"The king is dead!"

The voice came from outside the mausoleum, but echoed through the building like a doomsday proclamation.

Death made sense.

Except the fact that sometimes it didn't. Sometimes it made no sense whatsoever. He was struggling to understand how he had come to be standing here, looking at this particular coffin, feeling these… feelings; guilt, regret, hatred, love and sheer terror.

What kind of omnipotent being let murderers, rapists and other sundry evil men live, but took away a broken country's last ray of hope? The sky was already darker than it should be at this time of the day, so what was the point? Why was he here, mourning, when so many others deserved it more?

"The king is dead!"

Yes, he'd died this morning; the blood in his bedchambers had yet to be cleaned and the redhead staring at the coffin in front of him could still smell the stench of it, hours after having found the body.

Sabaku no Gaara lifted his arms, his eyes travelling over the lines of the palms of his hands. It all seemed so arbitrary.

"The king is dead!"

He growled. Would someone shut that person up?

The words that echoed within the walls of the mausoleum (despite coming from outside), haunted him and he wished they would just die too.

He had never felt more confused, more foolish for believing that death itself would not touch these hallowed halls. He should have seen this coming. It was his duty to his king, to his family, and to his country.

' _The king is dead.'_ He reminded himself.

And yet somehow, those four words were more comfort to him than he'd ever felt.

Gaara was still torn, however. He hadn't hated the fool, though the older man had given him every reason to. They were family… once upon a time.

But the children of the Sabaku clan had been scattered to the wind when their country fell into civil war. Who would claim the throne? Who would kill their own flesh and blood to get on that throne? And who would be forced on bended knee?

Ultimately, the answer had been: no-one.

And so the war raged. For three years; for three years their loyalists fought for and alongside the sibling they wanted to see crowned. People died then too. And then the outsiders invaded, taking advantage of the chaotic state of affairs; more death had come to them, and the estranged children were forced to put their disagreements aside to force the invading harbingers out of their lands.

And they won.

Gaara stood stiffly, glaring down at his brother's coffin.

' _Why did you have to die, stupid fool?'_

It was Kankuro that the people had wanted when the dust settled, and for once, the trio siblings had sat down and listened to the voices around them. It was Kankuro's cheeky face that was plastered around the royal home, the royal city, and pretty much the entire kingdom. The people didn't even know him personally, but somehow he had the kinder face of the Sabaku children, and they trusted that dorky smile.

Gaara groaned inwardly.

And the truth was, they weren't wrong. He had his foul moods just like anyone else, but Kankuro had been the better sibling – the nice one. Even in the heat of battle; Temari could scare a battalion with a glare and he… Gaara didn't have to try, he just naturally terrified all.

But who would the people want now? And how long would that person hold the crown before they too, were betrayed?

Even now, other nations were circling the borders like vultures, sensing their weakness. How long would it be before death visited them all again?

For three years, Gaara had fought his siblings, thinking he wanted to rule. He might not have been the first born, like Temari, or as well-liked as Kankuro, but there was no denying his power. If he wasn't meant to defend their people with that power, then why had he been born with it?

The gods were laughing at him, he was sure of it; give an ant the ability to conquer every ant hill, but deny him the spoils.

"Gaara!"

Temari's voice broke through his thoughts and the redhead looked up to see her striding into the mausoleum, flanked by two guards. She waved at them and they halted, letting her approach Gaara alone. She looked determined.

"The people are going to riot," she said. "Advisor Yura believes we cannot sit on this; the people will want retribution."

Gaara stared back at Kankuro's coffin. This was not how he had intended to celebrate his twenty-first birthday. It seemed so long ago now, that Kankuro had been slapping him on the back and questioning his sexual orientation, given that Gaara hadn't wed any of the noble ladies yet. He was the only sibling without a significant partner.

' _I have standards.'_ His monotone reply had been met with a laugh and a giggling confession of his brother's own sex life.

Kankuro's widow crept into his head, and Gaara sighed. He felt sorry for her, mostly. She was too kind hearted a person to do what needed to be done next.

Gaara himself didn't want a kind woman. For most of his life, he hadn't wanted a woman at all (he liked them, but only when they didn't talk). He was twenty-one now, and had never held down any kind of relationship. He'd rarely partaken in sex and still had little idea what he was doing – which only added to his desire to avoid sexual situations. He found it too hard to let everything go and open himself up in front of anyone without the pressure of pleasing another person, let alone himself.

He was too easily impressed by feminine curves to trust himself in the sight of them.

It was a free life, but also a lonely one.

"We have to get out there." Temari stepped up next to him. "We have to tell the people that this treachery will not go unanswered."

The warm hand on his shoulder reminded him yet again that he wasn't as alone as he felt.

Finally, he'd been on good terms with his brother, and now _this_?

He couldn't stand it.

The pain was going to tear him up from the inside and he didn't know how to stop it.

"Gaara?" His sister's voice was soft, almost cautious.

He shook his head slightly. "How could he?"

Temari frowned. Was he asking how Kankuro could die, or die and leave them behind? She sighed.

"He loved you. Even when you were at each other's throats – even when we were all trying to kill each other. Kankuro… never stopped hoping we would all come back here someday. He loved you most of all."

It still didn't make any sense to him.

He didn't get it.

Making his decision, Gaara squared his shoulders and turned to face the guards who had been dutifully waiting for them to finish their conversation. He stared into their faces and they stared back. Loyalty in this country meant equal footing – even a servant deserved to be treated with respect.

He nodded to them. "Tell the advisor to gather the people. It's time to make a stand."

A wide grin spread over the faces of the guards and they rushed to obey his command.

Temari clasped her brother's hand, feeling the same desire for revenge rush through her. Gaara squeezed her hand back, though he didn't feel as confident as he'd sounded. But he was determined: he would not let anyone take advantage of his people again.

-o-

On the other side of Sunagakure, green eyes raked over the city hungrily, taking in every detail.

Silk curtains wafted over her face, falling against her body gently, highlighting the contours of her petite body; she loved the feel of it, but more than anything, she enjoyed the cool breeze drifting in – a sign that even balmy summers in this city could be gentle on the wind. She was taking a moment to admire the beauty of the foreign city beneath her before letting the reality of her situation sink in. Sunagakure. Her new home. It had seen better days – at the height of its power years ago, it had stood as a beacon to distant travellers – but even now it still retained a regal air about it.

It was… entrancing.

Sakura Haruno was the heiress to the last of the nomadic tribes that had come to Sunagakure to parlay with king and request permanent residence, only to hear the news of the man's untimely death. They were a proud people, brave warriors and healers, but they were dying. Country borders were closing in light of the new political tensions, and it was becoming impossible to safely traverse the old travelling roads they loved so much – in just this last month alone they'd lost fifteen people in their caravan to brigands and foreign soldiers mistaking them for spies.

This couldn't continue.

Most people thought they were just gypsy nobles who were hardy and interesting enough street entertainers when they were short on money, but the truth was that they were the descendants of the Kiraaku – a Yakuza-like clan that had once been infamous for manipulating their way into powerful families. They'd literally fucked, manipulated, and murdered their way into the noble court.

But things changed when Sakura's great-great grandfather gathered what was left of their clan (after an assassin killed their patriarch) and turned them into nomads. Slowly, the legend of the Kiraaku died down, and very few knew of their bloody past. Their history was dead. And yet they themselves, survived.

Sakura turned away from the balcony and looked at her sleeping father; she had come to his chambers, hoping he was awake, but now hesitated to disturb him. He was dying, and there was nothing she could do about it. A sickness picked up from a neighbouring country had infested his body and now he had very little time left. Kizashi was all she had left of her mother – the woman who'd been kidnapped, raped and murdered by brigands before Sakura was even old enough to talk. Mebuki had been a beautiful woman, and it was her exotic looks that the pinkette had inherited.

But enough was enough.

They needed to find a new home if they were going to prevent these things from happening again. And her father had a plan to make that happen.

In this country, the daughters of the smaller tribes were highly valued in buying and selling for marriages with nobles because of their exotic looks and rumoured, unique skills. It was a fetish that made her uncomfortable, but what kind of Kiraaku descendant would she be if she didn't take advantage of it?

"Sakura?"

Her father stirred, reaching out for her as she ran to his side.

"Daddy?"

"I knew it was you."

His sight was failing, along with his internal organs. Even she, with all her medical prowess, couldn't save him, and she hated herself.

"Don't cry."

Her tears trickled down his arm as she kissed the back of his hand.

"I can't help it, daddy."

"You can't cry yet."

She nodded. "I know."

"Yuri can lead our clan now, but you need to do something else for them."

"I don't know…"

"Do this, please? For me?"

Sakura tightened her hold on his hand. "I will, daddy."

She had no problem with seducing the richest noble she could catch the eye of. They were all rolling in dough. If they fell for her charms, it was their own fault. But her father had higher dreams and, upon news that the king had died, had expressed his desire for her to aim much higher.

The youngest Sabaku…

He had more wealth than your average noble, and the power he wielded in battle was too much of a temptation; she may not agree with the way her ancestors had hurt people, but the blood of the Kiraaku ran through her and she couldn't deny she _really_ wanted to see this living legend in the flesh. His people mostly feared his power – though they revered it too – but if the rumours were true, he was headed for that ivory throne.

Even if she failed with him, there had to be someone in that court that would find her attractive.

Sakura kissed her father's forehead as his eyes closed and his breathing evened out again, indicating he was asleep.

She would marry into wealth and restore her clan's honour by taking that crown (or similar) by whatever means she felt necessary. But first, she needed to play the marriageable woman. She needed to show off her _exotic_ looks, her unique _skills_ , and charm the pants off that man.

-o-

 **I've got so many GaaSaku ideas roaming around in my head right now that it would feel wrong not to share.**

 **So share. The love, I mean. ;)**


	2. Fate's Hands

**Chapter Two: Fate's Hands.**

 **Summary:** AU GaaSaku. Because war is coming. Because a king needs a queen. And because no-one warned him his most dangerous opponent would be the one warming his bed.

-o-

The bright lights and colours of the fireworks blanketed the night sky. Gasps and shouts from the onlooking crowd followed the newest eruption of screaming and whistling in its wake. The spectacle was enchanting and awe inspiring to everyone who saw it.

All except one.

The name Sabaku no Gaara was synonymous with words like buzzkill, sourpuss, killjoy, and his personal favourite: stick-in-the-mud. He'd never been one for any kind of festivity. He would never admit it out loud, but he _hated_ these mandatory traditions (because the people loved it). All these spectacles, all the bright colours and loud noises; they just gave him a headache – his siblings had always seen through his façade, however.

But the rigors of their three-year war were still showing, and the people _needed_ some semblance of normality – a return to happier times. Even if it was a sham; a silent lie that hid the promise of bloodshed on the onset of the morn. For a night, they could forget their troubles and pretend like many of them weren't going to die in the coming weeks.

Gaara would never think of trying to deny them that.

He could put up with this for one night… right?

He nodded in acknowledgement as another partygoer approached him, bowed at the waist, and moved on.

Yes, he could put up with this, for now.

This was tradition, after all, and as the future king, he had to respect it.

Temari had waved away the offer for joint leadership (what had changed her mind, Gaara didn't know – he'd have to ask her later), surprising everyone. It didn't sit well with him.

Gaara looked up, again, as a particularly large stream of mixed sulphur, charcoal, and saltpetre exploded into the sky. It created an image this time; elemental kanji. One that represented the god of fire.

All the gods of the land of wind were elemental in power. And every season, as well as turning of the year, was celebrated with a different elemental god in mind.

They were about to leave summer – hence the fireworks and imminent fire dancing – and this celebration was to honour the gods for the last time this season. Not to mention that Obon was upon them, and he was dreading the offerings to the spirits of the ancestors.

Gaara sat in silence, and occasionally nodding as a citizen would approach him to offer their respects, but mostly just tried to _look_ like he wasn't bored out of his mind.

Until his sister _finally_ decided to grace him with her presence.

"Fire dancing is next," Temari said, breathing heavily as she sidled up next to her brother.

Had she just run through the entire length of the palace to get here, or what?

She had a strange, warm glow about her; Gaara's eyes darted to Shikamaru as the man dutifully followed behind her, but remained silent (his sister's General during the war was quite the tactician). They'd married on the eve of the civil war.

Gaara frowned.

He hated happily married couples.

They made him feel lonely and bitter, despite his preference to avoid that particular entanglement. He'd worked his entire life to convince people that he didn't need anyone, even when the freedom he gained from avoiding spousal dependency made him feel better, it was still a farce; the post coital glow of his sister just served as a reminder that he had _no-one_.

And frankly, the mental images were _disgusting_.

Gaara didn't answer her.

"I hear there's a new dancing troupe in our fair city."

"Advisor Yura." Temari greeted the older man warmly as he approached them.

"It might be worth a look," he added. "They could be added to the celebrations – it'll definitely help morale."

Gaara sighed, already knowing what the advisor was talking about.

' _Just what I need,'_ he thought sarcastically. _'Flashes of half-naked people dancing in front of me.'_

And with his luck, every single one of these inevitably _female_ dancers would be the highlight of the show. Just because he liked the idea of nicely shaped, feminine curves swaying to-and-fro, didn't mean he wanted to be exposed to it. He hated temptations.

"Yes." His sister looked intrigued. "I heard they're looking for permanent residence. Has the council gone over their petition, yet?"

"No. But their first petition was a request to speak directly with the late king."

Temari closed her eyes momentarily at the reference to Kankuro.

"A matter easily handled to Lord Gaara," Shikamaru said, breaking his silence, and stepping up next to Temari, protectively. "The advisors are more than capable of assisting the transfer of responsibility."

The previously bored expression he'd been wearing now reflected his distaste of Yura.

The advisor nodded in affirmation. "The troupe–" He started.

"They're a nomadic tribe," Gaara interrupted, correcting him. He'd read the reports.

"The outlander territories _have_ become exceedingly dangerous in the past few years," Yura said diplomatically. Something must have caught his attention, because he bowed to his majesties quickly before taking his leave.

Temari smirked at Gaara as another firework exploded in the sky above them.

He raised an eyebrow at her questioningly.

"I've read the reports too," she said. "Some of the young women in the tribe are of marrying age, so they may do their vows in the city shrines. It'll affect the agreement of any tenancy we allow them." Temari grinned mischievously. "You could take this opportunity to find someone exotic to marry, little brother."

Gaara flushed with embarrassment, remembering a talk with Kankuro a few weeks ago; affably, his brother had teased him over his "taste" in lesson traditional female "flavours".

' _Taste test them, little brother,'_ Kankuro had said. _'See if the creamy centre matches the chocolaty outside.'_

It was a real _thing_ too, with nobles these days. Many of the court had begun negotiations to wed women (or men) from more ethnic tribes and areas in the land of wind.

Not that he'd considered it for himself…

Gaara had more important things to worry about.

If he found a wife, he found a wife; Gaara didn't want to spend too much time worrying (or blushing) over it. He decided to let the gods decide that fate for him. Yes… he could pretend _that_ was out of his hands, too.

The law was against him on that, but he didn't want to force himself.

Gaara pushed all thoughts of courting, fiancés, and marriages aside for now. The only thing that mattered was getting through this night so that, come morning, he could set his mind to the task of avenging his brother.

-o-

The night was still young, and Sakura Haruno had a plan. She was going to dance her arse off.

She would do everything she could to attract the attention of the future king, as her father wanted, of course. But that was up to the gods, not her. And fate.

Superstition was common in her people, and it was _fate_ that they'd arrived in Suna on this auspicious day. And the Obon festivities were in full swing.

The once power hungry clan of Kiraaku – who now went by the name Ryokōsha – were the precursors of the fire dancing that has now been around for centuries. It was their specialty before, during, and after their notoriously manipulative ways in the noble court. Every child in the Ryokōsha learnt to dance, though most did not train with fire anymore – a tradition that sadly became less important, even though they were often mistaken for a travelling, performance troupe.

The discipline and skill involved were still taught, but a student needed permission from their Master Teacher to advance to working with fire. And Sakura had surpassed her master long ago.

So she decided to take advantage of tonight's Obon celebrations. That was where Lady Chiyo came in.

Since her mother's death, Sakura had been tutored under Lady Chiyo; she was Sakura's _kahu_ (caretaker), a respected title in their tribe, though not her only one. She had some rough edges, but Chiyo was otherwise the kindest person Sakura had ever met. The woman was warm, psychologically-minded, with an uncanny radar for mischief, and a no-nonsense attitude for troublemakers.

Her rank in their tribe was of Head Healer. And she was the best they'd ever produced – second only to the world renown Lady Tsunade (but anyone who valued their heads never uttered _that_ woman's name around Lady Chiyo).

Right now, Chiyo was tutting over Sakura's wardrobe choice.

"It's unbecoming," she'd said.

"It's not like I'm naked."

Chiyo insisted on doing her hair at least.

Sakura reached up and fingered the headdress the older woman had insisted she wear (it bore the tribal symbol). Chiyo slapped her hand away.

"Do the girls in the palace all wear their hair like this?" She wondered out loud.

The worried, aging lines of her _kahu_ worried Sakura. She was protective of the pinkette but also found her new plan to get a seat in the royal court a noble one. She was eager to see Sakura married off and _happy_.

Sakura had to keep reminding herself that Chiyo had not been born among the Ryokōsha, only migrating to their tribe years ago, when she'd lost her son to war – war instigated by the ruling family (two kings ago). She shared the Ryokōsha natural tendency toward ambition.

"Take this duty seriously, Sakura," Chiyo chided, not looking at her as she tugged on her hair to pull it back and out of her face. "Any girl in the clan would kill to take your place."

Sakura snorted. "Like they understand this is about me auctioning myself off."

Chiyo made a tutting sound but didn't otherwise respond.

The younger ones had been so excited since Yuri told them they would soon be meeting royalty. That ridiculous girl had them all worked up over it. She even had them all thinking they were going to some dancing ball and the prettiest girls would be married off to the cutest princes.

' _That girl.'_

Sometimes Sakura had a hard time believing that she was related to Yuri. Her cousin was also the only person other than Kizashi and Sakura that carried the name Haruno, which gave her the right to lead the Ryokōsha if circumstances allowed it. And now they did.

But the silly girl was far more interested in spreading rumours about Sakura's impending nuptials and their clan's "rise to power" then catching up on her lessons. She needed to _prepare_ , since their patriarch didn't have much time left.

A familiar pang hit Sakura and she winced, remembering that her father was currently asleep next door, in pain, even in slumber. He kept up a brave face when awake, but the moment he slipped into unconsciousness all his worries manifested on his old, tired, and worn face.

Sakura closed her eyes to distract herself for a moment. But her thoughts returned to the current state of affairs.

Why didn't Kizashi ask Yuri to seduce some noble?

Sakura huffed, fidgeting again, and earning herself a stern look from Chiyo.

Tradition dictated they find an intended among their own from a young age; thank-fully, incest was abhorred and the bloodlines weren't ever mingled with their own, even if they had to seek out other tribes to (prevent) it. The point being, that Yuri had an intended; at least _her_ intended was still _intended_. The young man Sakura's father had promised her to had died in an ambush on their caravan over a month ago.

Sakura had mixed feelings about that – that boy had been interesting enough when she had an itch to scratch, but she couldn't imagine being particularly happy married to someone who still thought she wouldn't get pregnant if they did it standing up.

Dunce.

But at least he hadn't been her first. She'd had her fair share of childhood crushes too. Sakura had liked an older boy for a long time when she was a child – he'd be almost thirty now, but he too, was gone.

As good as, anyway.

She glanced at Chiyo in the mirror as the older woman started humming. That was a sore topic she avoided.

As for Yuri… Sakura could only hope that Yuri settled down when she finally _settled down_ and bore children. It would do good to teach her responsibilities. Her intended was a good guy, so there was hope there.

"This is all happening so fast," Sakura thought out loud, before she could stop herself. She didn't mind this, but now that she was getting closer to having to do it, she worried nobody would like her.

"There will be no time to worry over how little time is left to you before the fire dance tonight."

"I know."

"If you are to attract him, you must act swiftly."

"I'm aware."

"Are you also aware of what time it is?"

Sakura looked up at the reflected image of her _kahu_ and frowned. "What?"

"Obon."

"Yes, I know. It's a season of renewal, of visits from our ancestors, when offerings are made to the spirits."

"And the king recently died."

Sakura nodded. "I know."

Where was she going with this?

"The new king will have to be crowned soon, or it will be disrespectful to the spirits, and the law says he must marry within thirty days of taking the crown. But there is a rite of passage the future king and his future wife must go through first and it is lengthy."

"Okay…" Sakura was still confused.

Chiyo made a clucking sound, now staring at Sakura in the vanity mirror in front of them. "He will most likely have been pressured by his council to marry in the past, but has not taken any vows. Which means he will be desperate now, and a desperate man is easily wooed by a beautiful woman."

Sakura smiled, understanding now. "You really think I can do it?"

"You have wooed every man in this caravan," Chiyo said honestly, chuckling when the pinkette's eyes widened in shock. "But they would not dare approach you without your father's permission. The future king however, outranks Kizashi."

Sakura had nothing to say to that. She sat patiently as Chiyo finished and stood as instructed, when the older woman was done.

She looked at herself in the full length mirror and quite suddenly, could see what her _kahu_ had been talking about. In front of her stood an exotic woman – more than that, the woman she had become was shapely but not out of proportion, petite but not _flat_ ; her eyes glittered like polished emeralds, her skin seemed to absorb the light of the torches in her room. Her skin was still light, since she covered it during the day (tradition for the Ryokōsha) so it wasn't exposed to the sun, but there was a soft, natural olive tint that showed when she wore more open clothes.

It had to be the fire light. All Ryokōsha looked more exotic in fire light. It was in their genetics.

Her long hair was pulled back and slightly curled, but still retain some semblance of its natural straightness; she couldn't believe how much better it looked this way.

She suddenly _felt_ like a princess.

' _A queen,'_ she corrected herself.

"Thank-you, _kahu_ ," she whispered.

Lady Chiyo just smiled, and nudged her toward the door.

It was time.

Sakura inhaled deeply, feeling more confident now. There were fireworks in the sky, a clear path leading to the open gardens where the main festivities were currently being held, and the future king was unknowingly waiting for her.

Spirits, fate, and gods be willing.

' _I can do this.'_

-o-

 **Please review. :)**


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